


Up North

by RussianWitch



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, First Time, Humiliation, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Manhandling, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 23:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10729737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: As a slave, Marcus had been free.Victorious and free, he can't help thinking about what might have been in the middle of the night.





	Up North

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd

As a slave, Marcus had been free.

For the first time in his life, he had had no obligation, or honor left to concern himself with, only survival and—He'd seen how other slaves of the Seal People were used, women _and_  men, taken and ravaged. Not him, never him, no matter the looks the warriors threw his way, he'd been Esca's and Esca hadn't given permission to damage his properly, had not felt the need to make use of it either. Now, back home in his uncle's villa, he hates himself when he wakes in the middle of the night wishing to have been used harsher. In Esca's place—Marcus had been in Esca's place, but he'd been too ill, too hurt to even think of taking advantage, never mind that _that_  wasn't—he didn't want that.

His cock aches tenting the light sheet that covers him, just from the thought of having Esca on top of him. Esca's rangy body between his legs, pushing Marcus down onto his back, pulls up his tunic to expose his shame. Esca wouldn't allow him to look away, not even to close his eyes: he'd have to witness his shaming, see the pleasure his former slave takes in using him like a woman.

Esca wouldn't be gentle, he'd leave imprints of his hands on Marcus' hips, Marcus' wrists bloody and torn from the rough rope used to keep him in place. He shudders just thinking about it, loops and loops of it binding his arms overhead or better still behind his back, crisscrossing his chest and leaving a latticework of angry, red welts from Marcus' struggles.

Marcus wonders if Esca would like that? To have Marcus at his mercy—to rut into him, spear and pin him down, like one of the bears they hunt in the woods, grunting and snorting as he writhes in ecstatic agony. Bound and used, he would not be at fault, would not shame his family or his freshly re-elevated name.

Frustrated, Marcus throws himself onto his belly, his cock trapped painfully between his body and the hard mattress. The discomfort doesn't keep his hips from moving, his body too enamored with the thought of use to give up easily. He wiggles his hips, tries to get comfortable and only accomplishes clumping his tunic up into a messy tangle around his waist.

The night air is shockingly cool on his overheated flesh chilling the sweat pooling in the small of Marcus' back, making his feel lewd. Marcus should get up, get himself together and go for a walk in the garden to get the evil thoughts out of his head. Instead, he gets his knees under him, spreads his legs until he feels the cool night breeze caress his hole. Would Esca want to see him like this? Begging silently, like a bitch in heat, nowhere near a proper Roman he's supposed to be.

He smothers his moans in his pillow, his hole barely soothed by the soft breeze.

In the barracks, he'd heard all sort of things that whores might due for enough coin, that savages did for free, things decent men should not think about. Things like taking another man's flesh in their mouths, of pleasuring them with their tongues, things that leave Marcus breathless and with a dry mouth.

Going to a brothel might have solved the problem, but the thought of touching one of those women leaves Marcus faintly ill. His uncle has suggested that now the family honor has been restored, Marcus might get married and start a family, but the thought doesn't appeal at all.

He wants to be back north, where no one knows him, or his family name.

Where he can be nothing more than Esca's thrall.

Marcus moans into the pillow, deciding to stop the insanity, to get up and go walk. The soft creak of the door has his head jerking up, to see Esca in the doorway a candle in hand. Humiliation flames across Marcus' skin, freezes him in place, bare ass offered to the world.

"I thought you were in pain," the Briton sighs, slipping fully into the room and locking the door behind him.

"Esca, this isn't—," 'what it looks like' Marcus wants to say, but the words die in his throat, the situation is obvious even in the dark.

"Not— the pain I expected," Esca keeps talking as if Marcus hasn't humiliated himself before the man's eyes.

"Go! Go back to bed!" Marcus growls, hiding his face in the wrinkled sheets.

"And leave you suffering?" Esca steps closer, puts the candle onto a shelve, hiding his face in the shadows, "when I can enjoy it instead?" His voice drops, turns rough like gravel or the growl of a storm, it sends a shiver down Marcus's spine, makes his _still_ aching cock leak, and his hips dance.

Esca has always kept himself under tight control, painfully aware what his position is in life as a son of a treacherous subject, a slave he could not afford even a wrong glance. Having gained his freedom, the Briton had regained some peace of mind, but these—taunting words, the shift in the rangy body that made Esca seem more predator than anything else, he'd never seen that before. To be the pray—he swallows a sob, grateful that his cock is shielded by the knot of tunic and darkness from Esca's too sharp eyes.

Marcus reaches for the back of his tunic intent on covering himself, but Esca lunging forward grasps his wrist. Esca's slender, long-fingered hand feels like a brand, Marcus tries to jerk his arm out of his former slave's grasp, but having little leverage all he accomplishes is having his arm twisted up his back.

"I want to see!" Esca hisses, forcing Marcus' arm high enough that it actually hurts, "I want to see what makes a proper Roman ache so." He hisses, and damn his arm, those words should have Marcus struggling and throwing Esca off, maybe teaching him a lesson about his betters—his hips, having a mind of their own, rise higher instead, his knees slipping closer to the edges of the bed bearing him further.

"The mighty Roman Legionarius," Esca goes on, once he's sure that Marcus will not move once he's released; will keep his arms where they are, "did you think I hadn't seen you watching?" He kneels up on the bed, out of Marcus' sight, but still so very present. Esca's long fingers digging into the flesh of his ass, spreading him wider, "so much shame, for such a simple thing." For the first time that he can remember, Marcus feels a touch _there_  a thumb pressing on the exposed opening, pressing until he feels himself opening up to the intrusion.

"Is this what you've wanted, Marcus?" Esca husks against the small of Marcus' back.

"It hurts!" He manages to growl, the finger feeling like a dagger stabbing into him, like he's being cut open, only he can't pull away, can't stop because if it stops, Esca will leave.

"Can't have that," the Briton says, Marcus suspects there is a smile on his lips.

He feels Esca's breath on his ass again, the heat of him far too close, the wet swipe of Esca's tongue on his ass, right across the entrance to his body—he can't process the sensation: the wetness, the slickness, and heat of the appendage that burrows into him soothing and caressing.

"This is much better, isn't it?" Esca whispers, before sinking his teeth into the fleshy part of Marcus' ass, spurring him into finally trying to get away, falling out of bed into a messy heap on the floor. His head knocks on the stones, his breath leaves his lungs, he flails helplessly before getting himself righted to squint of at Esca who's still on the bed looking down at him curiously. "Are you alright, Marcus?" He asks as if he hadn't just had _his tongue up Marcus' ass_.

"How can you? To do something like that—!" Marcus whispers in shock, jerking his tunic to rights, ignoring the tent the action creates between his legs. His body liked the foreign sensation, the fact that Esca had been opening him up for something much bigger than a finger.

"You liked it, didn't you?" The rangy man shrugs, stretching out to occupy most of Marcus's narrow bed, "and yet you will deny yourself!"

"We aren't boys or—", Marcus swallows the rest of the sentence remembering himself, but Esca knows what he'd wanted to say.

"Savages?" He laughs, but Marcus can see anger flaring in his eyes, "but I am a savage, or have you forgotten?" He drops onto his back dragging his hand down his body to the fastenings of his trousers, "and I have thought about it too! How easy it would have been to stay with the Seal People, to truly make you my slave." Esca takes himself in hand, slender like the rest of him, pale and curved, "would you have liked it, Marcus? Not having a choice but to submit?"

"No!" Marcus growls, but his cock jumps and his mouth waters as Esca strokes himself slowly. He wonders if his former slave has learned to read minds during their time up north and had never bothered to share the knowledge.

"Come here!" Esca orders, voice hard and eyes harder, reminding Marcus of being on his knees with a knife to his throat. He crawls to the edge of the bed, leans forward releasing a shocked grunt when Esca's hand grabs him by the ear forcing his cheek against Esca's flesh.

"Taste me!" Esca demands, guiding his cock towards Marcus' lips, a drop of moisture beading at the tip. Marcus whines, desperate to get away, drowning in need, every muscle in his body tense, the wood of the bed frame creaking under his hands.

"Do it!" Esca hisses and taking a shaky breath, Marcus lurches forward mouthing at the slick flesh. He tastes skin, and Esca the way his smells only more concentrated, the saltiness of the moisture—nothing he could have imagined, everything he had spent sleepless nights thinking about.

Esca groans, his fingers tightening painfully on Marcus' ear until he moans his distress around the flesh filling his mouth. Marcus knows, theoretically, what he's supposed to be doing, but it isn't as easy as he'd imagined, it's a fight to keep his teeth out of the way, remember to breathe and keep from drooling. Esca's hand migrates to the back of Marcus' head, pushes him down, cutting off his breath as the head of Esca's cock finds the back of Marcus' head.

"That's it!" Esca's encouragement sounds like a curse, escaping as it does from between clenched teeth, his nails dig into the sensitive skin of his neck spurring Marcus on. He takes a deep breath and pushes down, digs his fingers into the flesh of Esca's thigh and side to keep himself grounded. Esca pants harshly above him, the cock in Marcus' mouth throbs and swells, drool dribbles down Marcus' chin annoyingly, humiliatingly and Marcus _needs_ : he needs air, needs Esca to say he's doing well.

Esca's hips move, Marcus sees stars explode behind his eyelids, takes the Briton impossibly deep and whines when he feels the cock withdrawing. Above him, Esca laughs through muffled moans and pushes back in, _fucks_ Marcus' throat slow and thorough until Marcus is light-headed and weak and desperate enough for release to rub his cock against the unforgiving bed-frame.

"No!" Esca growls, dragging Marcus off his cock, forcing him to lean back until his back is arched uncomfortably, "that's mine!" He blushes at the intensity of Esca's gaze on him, on his dirty face clearly visible in the light of the candle, "I'll give you release if I decide you deserve it!" Esca trails a finger along Marcus' jaw, caresses his cheek, then forces him down again and fills his mouth.

He doesn't know when he starts to cry, or why exactly; lack of air or the shame of it all, of how much he likes this use Esca puts him to, how much he likes being denied. His throat is raw, he feels light-headed, and Esca's moans have turned into one continuous animal sound of trump and pleasure, When Esca pulls out again, Marcus whines his disappointment, but Esca doesn't go far, he strokes himself roughly right before Marcus' face, painting Marcus with his release barely a dozen strokes later, wiping his cock on Marcus' lips before collapsing onto the pillow as if felled by an arrow. Marcus licks his lips, shuddering as the strange taste and texture of Esca's release that coats his tongue.

"Come here!" Esca asks, patting the bed next to his hip, "take off the tunic first, don't wipe your face." Disrobing his embarrassing, it makes Marcus truly aware just how much of a mess he is: his face and belly glistening in the candlelight with the fluids smeared on Marcus' skin. The head of his cock slaps wetly against his belly as he stands, and Esca bites his lip, devouring Marcus with his eyes despite his recent satisfaction. He kneels on the bed, surprised to be guided to straddle Esca's body, not sure what he's supposed to do, too distracted by Esca's hands groping his overheated body.

"Please, Esca!" He finally begs, hanging his head in supplication. He doesn't expect the kiss, Esca's teeth sinking into the flesh of his lower lip, stubble scraping deafeningly loud on stubble Esca's tongue licking the filth from Marcus' skin. Esca's hand on Marcus' cock almost has him spilling like a boy, has him sobbing at the too light touch that continues until Esca's hand is sticky and slick. Marcus curls himself around Esca's body hiding his face against the Briton's neck—he knows what's coming, wants what's coming and yet—he fears it, fears that in the light of day people will _know_.

"Stops thinking!" Esca's hand lands sharply on his ass, startles Marcus into straightening up shocked at Esca's audacity. Marcus doesn't get the chance to voice his displeasure, Esca's fingers find the entrance to his body, pushing in painlessly now they are slick and wet. The has him cursing and dropping on Esca's chest, breathing through the strange sensation of being opened and filled, he tries to rub himself against Esca's belly, but the fingers start to withdraw and Marcus can't help following, ignoring the demands of his cock in favor of the fullness inside of him over and over again. He sinks into the pleasure the digits bring, managing to obey Esca's command up until the moment the fingers disappear leaving him empty.

"Tell me what you want, Marcus!" Esca orders, cupping his face and stroking his lips, "tell me what you want, and I will gift it to you." He whispers, nipping at Marcus' ear, seductive as a satyr.

"I want you!" He groans, pushed to the limit of his reserves, "I want to—," Marcus curls into himself, rubbing his face against Esca's throat until he finds the courage to whisper in Esca's ear, "I want you inside me."

Not the most beautiful of words, but Esca rewards him with deep kisses that leave Marcus dizzy.

"Then you shall have me," Esca tells him, guiding Marcus up and back, onto his once more hard cock. Marcus feels the slick bluntness of him between his cheeks prodding at the entrance to his body, thicker and hotter, pressing him open.

"Help me fill you," Esca moans, and at first Marcus doesn't understand how, but then Esca guides him and Marcus _understands_ shifting his weight, takes a deep breath—he growls stubbornly ignoring the discomfort and drops. Fresh tears fill his eyes, but the awareness of Esca, a part of Esca, _inside of him_ has Marcus press on, ignoring Esca's warning that he should be careful.

He spreads his knees wider—and lets himself drop.

Pain and pleasure twist together inside of him into something _more_ , into Marcus spilling like a boy, shaking as if he's possessed. The power of his release would have had him falling off the bed if it hadn't been for Esca's hands steadying him. When the shudders pass, Marcus looks down on the man his chest smeared with ropes of Marcus' spill and _tears_ , tears that have run down Marcus' cheeks and spilled down onto Esca mixed with Marcus' sweat. 

"I'm sorry," he gasps, grabbing Esca's hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the pad under the thumb, in penance, Esca is still hard inside of him and Marcus has no idea what to do.

"I liked watching that," Esca tells him with a strange smile, "and now you can give your full attention to pleasuring me." He adds in a tone that isn't an order, but something close that settles low in Marcus' belly, "my Roman slave," Marcus' body tightens at the last, hissed word, and Esca curses his pleasure, his nails digging into the flesh of Marcus' hips, "show me how well you were taught to ride, centurion!" Esca demands, and Marcus can't help obeying raising his body and letting it drop, tightening himself around Esca's cock over and over again.

His thighs, start to burn soon enough, his body growing heavier and heavier, but Esca is still looking up at him with expectation and Marcus has never backed down from a challenge, he tries, he really does until every move is agony, until the world falls away except for the ache and Esca inside of him. Esca's hands on Marcus' cock have him spasming and losing his balance, losing the remains of his composure and dropping onto Esca's chest.

Marcus barely feels Esca moving, untangling them and extricating himself from Marcus' body. On his back, Marcus stretches out his aching legs, hanging his feet off the sides of the bed. Kneeling between his legs, Esca looks like a demon, still aroused and wild looking, terrifying in how beautiful Marcus finds him. "Come on! Finish—inside me," he slurs, blushing and twisting his face into the pillow to keep from seeing the amusement in Esca's eyes.

The rangy man grabs him, drags Marcus' ass into his lap raising him to awkwardly balance on his shoulders and pushes in again. Short, powerful jabs that, Marcus imagines, will leave the imprint of Esca's hipbones on the backs of Marcus' thighs by the time he is done. They stoke the fire inside him to a fever pitch, make him reckless—

"Esca, please!" He begs, not quite sure what he's begging for exactly.

"Mine!" Esca groans, the word almost too slurred and garbled for Marcus to understand, but it is enough to have him spilling again, and through the shock of it, he feels Esca spill as well curling into Marcus like he's in agony, every muscle tight like the string of a drawn bow that releases with a groan and Esca slumps onto Marcus' chest in a boneless heap.

Once his breathing evens out, and Esca slips from his body once again, Marcus gets up and fetches the jug with washing water cleaning the worst of the sweat and drying essence off of his skin, then wrestling a sleepily protesting Esca out of his tunic and leggings.

For an instant he considers shoving Esca out of the bed, telling him to go back to his own bed, but that would mean spending the rest of the night as he'd started: staring up at the ceiling counting the moment until dawn. He lies back down, taking the sliver of bed Esca hasn't managed to occupy just yet. Esca rolls against Marcus' back, huffs in his sleep, and plasters himself against Marcus tossing an arm and leg over Marcus' side.

"We don't have to be up North for me to own you," he mumbles against the beck of Marcus' neck, Esca's hand groping until he finds Marcus' hand and braids their fingers together, "we can start a horse farm," Esca continues.

They could at that, it would be hard work, but satisfying building something that has nothing to do with history or legacy, Marcus imagines drifting off to sleep, a farm half a day's ride or so from Calleva where no prying eyes could reach them without notice, where they could build a bigger bed.

"I'd like that," Marcus whispers into the darkness, tightening his grip on Esca's hand. 


End file.
